


Where the Ocean Guides Him

by Sandentwins



Category: Taiyou no Ko Esteban | Les Mystérieuses Cités d'or | The Mysterious Cities of Gold
Genre: Backstory, F/M, Gen, Illustrations, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Naval Battle, Origin Story, Pirates, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-24
Updated: 2020-03-11
Packaged: 2021-02-27 19:44:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,878
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22881205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sandentwins/pseuds/Sandentwins
Summary: Shaped by the unceasing rocking of the ocean waves, softened by the everlasting blows of the southern wind, hardened by the fire of human pride and hatred: Mendoza is a man of many secrets.A series of snippets and glossed-over scenes about Mendoza's past.
Kudos: 10





	1. The Seagulls' Nest

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In what circumstances young Mendoza was born and brought up.

_July 1495_

“It's over! By order of the King, surrender!”

But the gilded ship refused to listen. Sailing on the tide as smoothly as the wind, it evaded the assault once more, its crew cheering in loud and rowdy voices. The cannons shot, but they missed their target once again, as if that cursed boat was as elusive as the rarest of chimeras.

High above their heads, the winged pirates jeered as they swooped down, somehow knocking down another batch of confused sailors. Their wings of metal and leather whistled in the air as they flew back up, powered by some kind of witchery that left the Captain both confused and horrified. He barely managed to duck in time to avoid getting slashed in the face by whatever shivs these heathens had tied to their boots, all in a flurry of curses muttered under his breath. Getting his footing once again, he swished his sword as he tried to get them, to even reach them, to no avail.

“I will not repeat myself!”, he shouted, trying to assert his authority over these ruffians. “By order of the King– "

His sentence got cut short when another gust of wind nearly knocked him over, under the mocking laughter of these witches.

“Seize them, boys!”, the pirate commander called. “There's bound to be some good treasure in there!”

The gilded ship sailed closer, and a heap of footed pirates climbed aboard the _Gallega_ , making no small show of it. The Spanish crew could do nothing but watch as these pirates invaded their precious ship like parasites, and started pillaging whatever goods they were bringing back from the New Continent. Several of their winged generals landed down, asserting their superiority on the newly-caught caravel. Their wings made a clockwork sound as they folded back behind them; if they weren't such evil, twisted miscreants, they would very well have passed for angels.

The captain of the _Gallega_ was brought onto his knees, in a shameful act of submission; his head was pressed down by a foreign hand, and footsteps drew closer. He seethed with rage at the idea of being stopped and captured by _pirates_ of all people; when his chin was suddenly lifted, his eyes were full of wrath.

But quickly, they got stained with confusion.

“So, _that's_ the feared captain Mendoza.”, the woman snickered.

Her thick black curls framed her face like clouds over a stormy sea. Her build, her stature were definitely those of a leader, and there was no doubt she was the head of the pack. And there was something in her eyes, something that glared at him with cruelty, that could have made all his hairs stand on edge if he were any less calm and composed under the threat of death.

“A fierce and fearsome captain, that?”, she jeered. “I see nothing but a meek little prawn. Why, who is he to think he stands any chance against us?”

The crowd cheered along, bellowed with evil laughter under the sneer of their leader.

“I bet he can still be worth some ransom. Tie them all up in the back, and make sure they're not too tight in their bonds. Last thing I want is a prey's complaining.”

She wove a hand dismissively to her mates, ordering the caravel to be searched and all valuables rounded up. In the moment she didn't look at him, Mendoza suddenly jerked and managed to break free from his captors' hold; grabbing his sword, he held it forward, stinging humiliation fueling his moves as it blazed through him.

“What kind of pirate are you, to rely on witchery?”, he taunted. “You have no more honor than manhood, you wench!”

A shocked gasp ran through the crowd, as the leader froze in her tracks. And a second later, the glare she cast at him was so cold and cruel, Mendoza felt he would die on the spot. He started to regret his words, as the pirates drew their swords and headed for him; but she snapped her fingers, stopping them in their endeavors.

“Those are bold words for someone about to die.”, she spoke with a bone-chilling voice.

Mendoza gulped, but stood all his might.

“Then I will die with more honor than you've ever had in your life.”

The pirate drew her sword, tracing a silver curve in the air. Clearly she was angered.

“The only honor you'll ever have will be to die by La Gaviota's blade!”

And she rushed on him. He put up his guard to block her dash, and their blades clashed in a metallic echo that sounded through the air.

It was fast. It was heated. The crowd shouted out and cheered on their commander, whose strikes were sneaky and nowhere near anything a dignified officer would use. Mendoza was doing his best to parry, to retaliate, but Gaviota had him stuck in a loop of trying to flail his sword around to protect himself at all costs. She was moving like a devil, all parts of her body seemingly concealing a hidden blade, all dirty tricks up her sleeve like a rowdy tavern fight. She was everywhere, striking from all sides at once, kicking and clawing to get to him; if Mendoza wanted to win, he knew he had to shed what decency he still had.

So he retaliated. He played dirty, he used of the same tricks as her. No foul play was off-limits in this fight, and this seemingly got a reaction out of her. Their blades clashed, their arms spun, their feet leaped off every surface where their fight would lead them. In the heat of battle cries and jeering coming from all sides, he could feel his own blood racing to his head, pulsing like a devilish machine to keep him from losing. Everything became a blur of blades, of hands, of kicks and voices, and his head started to spin; but he kept his footing, and screamed out as he struck, hitting wherever his blade guided him. And this seemed to please her.

“You're not so bad when you try, big boy.”, she smirked. “Is that how they teach you to fight?”

“That's how I will teach you to lose!”

He didn't understand what was going on. Never in his life had a swordfight lasted so long, nor had it been so wild and unruly. Bent as he was trying to predict the unpredictable of her strikes, he barely noticed how it affected him. Cuts, strikes that landed on him were barely a noise in this flurry of heated emotions, as his own body was muted by the hellish sunshine and the beating of his own erratic breath. He could see she was panting, too, but he wouldn't go easy on her. He would never go easy! He was Captain Ricardo Mendoza, leader of the King's most prized fleet, slayer of pirates and Moors! He would not go easy on this _wench_ for anything in the world!

He struck at the same time she did, voices shouting out in anger. She fell back on the deck, at the same time pain spread through his chest. He found himself falling shortly after, as everything became a flurry of voices and footsteps, and his own exhaustion caught up. His blood was beating to his head, everything spinning around him and turning dark. His limbs gave up a moment later, and he blacked out here and then.

It was a short and restless sleep. When he woke up, the familiar sway of the sea reassured him as to his surroundings; he opened his eyes and tried to sit up, but the pain in his chest stopped him. He looked down, and saw that whatever wounds he got from the swordfight have been bandaged. His crew must have retreated after he won, and he would now be on a good old Spanish ship currently sailing back home. Everything would be alright.

But the more he looked around, and the less he recognized his surroundings. What was this place? This wasn't a ship he knew… Where could he be? He tried to stand up, to get his clothes, but before he could do so, a voice brought him out of his thoughts.

“So you're awake, big boy.”

That voice! He turned around, ready to strike, and met eyes with the witch woman he's fought earlier. La Gaviota!

She had a snarky smile on her face, standing up with a triumphant look to her. She didn't look injured as he was, and the mere fact that she was up and running while he was bedbound added humiliation to injury. He tried to stand, to face her, but his ribs didn't quite agree and he winced in pain once more.

“Don't pretend to be tough.”, she said. “You've lost some blood.”

“You sorceress! What is your plan?! What do you want from me!?”

She chuckled at that, an evil chuckle.

“Oh, I was thinking of selling you out for ransom. Surely a big hat like you ought to be worth some shiny coin.”

She sat on the bed, one leg over the other.

“That is, after I've had my fun with you.”

“Your 'fun'?”

While Mendoza was obviously angered at this, he couldn't help but feel a tinge of worry as well. What did she have in mind…?

“My fun.”, Gaviota repeated.

She leaned closer, so close he felt uncomfortable. Her face was inches away from his own, her amber eyes peering at him like those of a tiger's about to strike.

“Tell me, my good royal highness, is there any mate on that ship of yours that caught your fancy yet?”

“What are you implying? Get off me!”

But she pushed him back onto the bed, asserting a dominance that he didn't like at all. She was towering over him, and sudden echoes of their swordfight ran through his body like flashbacks of some powerful drug. Her presence alone was enough to make his blood boil with adrenaline, as her hands crept higher up his chest, her fingers trailing over his bandaged wounds. Trapped under her grasp, he couldn't squirm free, and his heart was beating fast; her fingers made shivers run down his spine, and she did notice this reaction of his'. Their eyes met again, domination looked into fierceness, and whereas both burned just as brightly, it felt like a coal fire meeting a grease fire.

“You fought well, for a man your age. A skill so great is being wasted in a mere seafaring job.”

“I don't like your tone. I'm not wasting anything.”

“Have you never thought of doing anything else? Of reaching further than where licking the Admiral's shoes can get you?”

He didn't answer, turning his face away. Gaviota simply smiled, and leaned even closer.

“You're the first catch in a good while that caters to my tastes. In return, let me give you a glimpse of what you're missing on.”

She grabbed his chin in her hand, and turned his face around; Mendoza barely fought back as their lips met, and her warm breath engulfed his face. It was unexpected, and going against everything he's always known...but in the warmth of the moment, he shoved these thoughts aside. He was too weak to fight it off, so he decided to play along, and let her do as she pleased. She was beautiful, way too skilled in the carnal arts for an unmarried woman, and the ink of her pirate tattoos adorned her body like the markings on a cobra's hood. He was already wounded, and her snakebite was too powerful to resist. It was easier to lie down and relax, and allow her to have her way with him.

At least, that's how it went the first time. And the time after that. But by the third time, he started to be more involved in it; and for the remaining days of his convalescence aboard the gilded ship, when she would visit him each day for another taste of his male fire, he would give her a little more of himself every time. As if he were getting into it, as if he were accepting his fate and regaining control of it with every word, every visit, every embrace. It was sowing evil seeds in him, he knew that much; but he didn't care. Not now, not today, not in that time of complacency she was giving him. During that brief window of time she opened for him, he tasted all the freedom that these pirates cherished and lavished in.

It wasn't love. He knew it couldn't be. But it was relief, and that's what made it worth. So despite his better judgment, despite morality, he seized it while he could, and did so while it lasted.

~~~~~

_September 1499_

La Gaviota peered over the edge of the ship, watching the troubled waves below. It would be yet another stormy journey, she knew it; already the scouts were landing down, folding their wings back into their backpacks. At least they wouldn't be troubled by buccaneers or other self-righteous shallow-sea sailors, and that made it worth the trouble.

“Fasten up your lifelines, boys.”, she muttered to herself. “It's going to be yet another tough day.”

She looked down to the lower deck, her eagle eyes scouring the crowd of working sailors until she noticed the small group of children playing in a circle. Lots of curly brown heads in there, but she couldn't miss the one she was looking for.

Carlos was swinging a wooden stick around, taken in a pretend swordfight with his young crewmates. At the age of 3, he's already taken a liking to the art of dueling, and the clumsiness of his little hands showed the first seeds of great marksmanship that were just starting to take root. His playmates, the children of other crewmembers, watched him with awe as he beat one of the bigger kids in a duel, sending his wooden sword flying in a spectacular display of agility. The loser grunted and complained, but Carlos took pride in his victory and the cheer of the other children, boasting his feat like only a squirt this age could. Gaviota watched them with a smile, feeling some pride at the knowledge that her son was already proving to be a winner.

“Those are the qualities we're looking for, here.”, she said to herself. “That's what makes a wind sailor.”

Soon Carlos was running back to his mother, pridefully chatting about his victory. She smiled and picked him up, his tiny hands holding onto her shoulder.

“Did you see it, mama? Did you see how I winned?”

“I saw it alright.”, Gaviota cheered. “That was some awesome work! Soon you'll be ready for the real deal.”

“I didn't get afraid! I did it and I winned! I can win anyone now!”

“I have no doubts you will, gavito.”

She kissed his forehead, and he sat against her arm like a throne. For he was a little prince of the seas, future leader of the wind sailors, and he was already on the path to greatness.

A great captain in the making, like his mother.

~~~~~

_April 1501_

“You've got guts, coming here.”, La Gaviota sneered.

“I couldn't just let you leave like that.”

The sounds of town were permeating the air, cries from the docks and voices from the streets surrounding these two in an aura of land life that she didn't appreciate at all. It was too noisy, too busy for her. She didn't want to stay here, but circumstances were not in her favor; and neither was luck, it seemed. For out of the blue, she's met with another old ghost of the past, in the form of Ricardo Mendoza.

They've crossed glances in a tavern, as she was busy recruiting people to fill the ranks of the wind sailors. And she's thought nothing of it at first, for she's met many people she's already seen in the past. But then he chased her, followed her, and she had to face him.

He's changed. That's the first thing she noticed: gone was the superior demeanor and the upright posture that struck her fancy more than five years ago. Some of his manners seemed to have disappeared, and it looked like he had taken to drinking. The mere fact she met him in a tavern said a lot about what kind of man he's become. And she didn't know what to think of it, save for pride at knowing she's likely been the one to cause this.

“What became of the feared Captain Mendoza? All I see is a sad excuse of his shadow.”

“He's not as dead as you think.”

She cackled at that, crossing her arms mockingly.

“It would be a miracle, then. I thought he disappeared, after he left my arms.”

Mendoza stepped forward, as if he wanted to embrace her, but Gaviota stopped him right in his tracks.

“What are you trying now, big boy? Don't tell me you're begging. That's not like you.”

“I'm not begging. I'd never stoop so low!”

“That's not what I'm seeing here. You've lost your dignity. You were such a proud captain, and now you've lost your marks! Don't think you'll gain my interest like that.”

She smirked.

“Last time was a stroke of luck, I'll admit. I was in a good mood, and you had a fighting charm. But that's all it was.”

“This is not why I'm here today.”

He looked at her. His eyes were as pale as fog over the sea, and peering into them felt like looking at a dark ocean morning.

“I've heard what they say about you. About the woman who leads the winged pirates.”

He gulped nervously.

“About...the child she carries in her arms.”

Gaviota rose a brow. And then, she burst out laughing.

“So _that's_ what you worry about! I thought for a second that I had struck your fancy as well, but it turns out you're even more vain than that!”

Mendoza looked away, feeling shame rush up his cheeks.

“Oh, poor boy. You really take me for the promiscuous type, don't you? You think I open my legs left and right, like some lowly courtesan?”

“Just answer my question!”

She could retort that he didn't ask any question, but saw no reason in humoring him. She simply stayed silent for a moment, wondering whether it was worth answering at all.

“Carlos is a wonderful kid.”, she simply said. “He's on his way to becoming a great pirate. A fierce captain, if you prefer.”

Mendoza opened wide eyes, and she swore she could _hear_ the blood leave his face.

She made nothing of it, once again. Why would it matter to her whether he knew or not? It's not like it was a secret for her crewmates that Carlos was the son of a Spanish captain. She doubted it was a secret for the kid himself, even though they've never had a real conversation about it.

“That doesn't mean anything, you know.”, she said. “I could have tossed him overboard the moment he came out.”

“But you didn't.”

She didn't. She couldn't help but wonder why not. Was it because, despite everything she's worked against, the idea of motherhood was just that pleasant? Was she secretly jealous of the other parents on her ships, and wanted to try it for herself? She didn't know. She didn't care. Carlos was a great kid, and a way to keep leadership where it belonged. She was bound to find an heir one way or another, anyway.

“Well...I didn't.”, she admitted.

“That must mean something.”

His hand suddenly held hers.

“That means we can still _save_ you.”

She withdrew from his grasp.

“ _Save me!?_ What are you talking about?!”

“You know this life of piracy isn't for you. But there's still hope!”

“Hope! Do you think I'm some runaway who needs saving? Or that you're some pious knight with a mission to make every woman he sees into a cloistered wife?”

She could almost slap him right here and then, or grab her sword and do even worse. But his eyes didn't stop looking at her, and it made her feel weird. Uncomfortable. The very thought of abandoning her crew made her blood boil; but past the vile thought, his intent had something almost adorable to it.

Not like she'd ever admit it.

“It's _you_ who needs saving.”, she retorted. “This life of yours has gone down the gutter. It's best you give up pretending to still be in your prime, when no Spanish ship will take you in.”

The cobra grinned.

“But you know, there's always room for talent in the wind sailors' crew.”

Any sailor down on their luck would have accepted the offer. To live a life of utopia on the seas, when everything was going down! Who wouldn't jump on the occasion? Who wouldn't _kill_ for a chance to jump? Gaviota knew of people she'd rescued from worse situations, that had since then become trusted advisers and soldiers. If she got to have Mendoza in her crew, he could prove very useful.

He looked up; she could see the hesitation in his eyes. Would he take the chance, give up the precious life of Admiral's croonie to gain some freedom? Would she give him what he wanted, if he accepted a new role in a society of misfits and outcasts?

"...how can I be sure of what you're offering?”, he asked.

Gaviota thought for a moment, weighing how much of an asset he could be to her crew. If he still got the fighting kick that got her so attracted in the first place, he would be a great addition to the fleet. And perhaps it would benefit Carlos in some way.

“Let's say...if you accept my proposition, I might be inclined to accept yours.”

She came out more seductive than she'd intended, and Mendoza didn't miss it. Had she any intention of holding her end of the deal? None at all. Traditional life was too dull for her, but he didn't need to know that. Not until after the deal was struck.

She invited him to a nearby inn. She still had some time before her ship left port, and could afford to have some fun before returning to her crew and her child. And the captain had nothing left to lose, so he might as well take the chance he was offered.

Once more, La Gaviota had ensnared him in her grasp. And that night, when her ship departed, she didn't leave alone.

~~~~~

_January 1502_

Carlos leaned over the basket, watching the tiny creature that squirmed within. Carefully, he put a finger forward, touching to its face; and when a tiny hand wrapped around it, his eyes lit up like stars. He gasped and almost stopped moving, entranced by this first contact that had Gaviota chuckle.

“So what do you think?”, she asked, not helping a smile.

Carlos looked up, eyes still wide with fascination.

"...we can keep him?”

She laughed at his question, finding it awfully adorable.

“Of course we will, gavito. He's your brother, we won't toss him overboard.”

Carlos smiled, gently shaking the newborn's tiny hand like it was a fellow accomplice's. When he first learned he would be a big brother, his mother feared he would develop jealousy; but his leader's instinct took hold, and he quickly became enjoyed at the prospect of a new crewmember. A little gavitito to add to their family, wasn't that just great?

The baby started whining. Gaviota carefully picked him up, knowing it was time to feed him. Carlos helped her wrap him up in a warm blanket first, already taking on the role of helpful big brother.

“We must not let _him_ take it.”, he whispered, almost like a secret.

“Oh, come on.”

Though she had to agree that Ricardo wasn't the most helpful of fathers. She tried to have him bond with his child when they first got acquainted; but something in Carlos was too wild for the captain to endure. Even though he's been so interested in knowing him at first, he's been quick to dismiss him on behalf of his savage behavior. And Carlos didn't appreciate it at all; Gaviota didn't try any further, since she was losing interest in the man anyway. All he did was sulk his lost prestige and complain about the unfamiliar crew he's renounced to join. Needless to say, Gaviota didn't particularly care on making sure he knew his second child, the one whose birth has been a true surprise.

Ah, who cared, anyway? She now had two heirs, two future commanders and pirate leaders, and whatever this old man thought wasn't her concern. She'd raise them her way, and nothing would stop her. Carlos had embraced the lifestyle of the wind sailors, and it wouldn't be long until little Esteban did so as well.

“He'll be a great leader.”, she said, a little dreamily. “Just like you.”

“Like me?”

“Mhm. He could be your second in command! Carlos and Esteban of the Seagull fleet, two names feared by all enemies!”

His childish eyes got illuminated with wonder at the idea. He had a flame within him, a flame nothing could seemingly put off. And she liked that.

She'd make sure it kept on burning. Never would she let it die off, especially not by the Captain's hands.

~~~~~

_May 1504_

The cannon flared again, and this time the main mast got struck down like timber. Two winged sailors took off and rushed towards the enemy ship, to join the tremendous swordfight that was taking place.

“Don't let them get you!!”, Gaviota called. “Get to the cannons, disarm them!”

“We're trying!”

Wind blew again, as gilded wings cut through the air trying to avoid enemy blades. The ship trembled under their feet, and Gaviota felt her footing become less certain.

“Madre de puta- Mendoza!! Get your ass over there and give me a hand!!”

She swished her sword and pushed back another assailant, as the enemy fleet was trying to get aboard her ship. Her boot met someone's face and kicked as hard as she could, but left her guard open for a full second during which another blade got a little too close for her liking. All around other crewmates were fighting, pushing back the Admiral's forces while trying to not get blasted by cannons firing their way.

“What's taking him that long!?”, she groaned, booting someone else in the gut.

“I bet he's already defected to the other side! That'd be like him!”

Gaviota huffed, but she had to admit he could be able of such a feat. She had her reasons to believe he's always wanted to come back into the Admiral's ranks, no matter how great the pirate life was.

A cry sounded to her ears, and she rushed the source of it. Kicking a sailor into the water, she held Carlos's hand to drag him out of the fight, away from the enemy.

“I can fight them!”, the eight-year old complained. “I can do it, mama!”

“It's too dangerous! They could kill you, you know!”

Carlos grumbled, fist tightening around his little child sword.

“I want to help you! I can't stand here and do nothing!”

“It's not the kind of fight where you can help. They've got cannons and firearms! Imagine if you got caught in the blast!”

Another shot sounded out to their ears, and Gaviota held her son close in a reflex.

“Quick. Get your brother. You need to get to safety.”

“I'm fine, I can do it!”

“Carlos, _listen!_ Get your brother, now!”

He looked hurt at her stern tone, but she acted out of fear more than anger. He headed down the deck, as Gaviota stood back up and resumed bashing skulls and swords left and right, with all the defensive rage she could muster.

Carlos quickly made his way to his mother's cabin, where he could hear Esteban's cries. When he opened the door, he saw someone was there; his face scrunched up in fear when he recognized whom.

“You!”

Captain Mendoza was holding the crying infant. What was he up to!? Carlos thought he would harm him somehow, and got his sword ready, but Mendoza stopped him with a hand gesture.

“Kid, put that down. It's not the time to play with swords.”

“Give him back! What are you doing, hiding when there's a fight outside!? You've got no guts!!”

“I'm trying to protect you here!”

He stepped closer, and Carlos instinctively stepped back. That man had never been bad to him, because his mother was around to defend him; but Carlos always had the thought, the dreaded idea that he'd be able to if he wanted.

“We can make our way to the Spanish ship and let them capture us. I'll tell them they made me prisoner; you two won't risk anything.”

“What!? No, we can't! That's treason!”

“The only treason I committed was to join this damned ship! I'm still part of the King's fleet, I can obtain his pardon! And if you follow, you'll be saved too!”

“No! No, I refuse!!”

He ignored his fear, and rushed in to snatch Esteban from the man's arms. The child sniffled and held onto his brother, calling his name in a toddler's tone, while Mendoza now looked as angry as could be. Fearing retribution, Carlos ran outside, and quickly went to meet with his mother.

Out on the deck, the fight was still going. He looked everywhere to find Gaviota, every second filling his heart with more fear; but finally, he spotted her to the side, and ran her was as fast as she could. She's been wounded, her arm sporting a large gash that she was trying to bandage as well as she could in the emergency of the moment. The sight of blood almost made Carlos want to cry, but she quickly embraced him.

“This will not stand!”, Mendoza suddenly spoke right behind. “Are you going to let children fight in this!?”

“We'll win this fight.”, she retorted, glaring at him. “We'll win like we always do.”

“You're doomed, Palmira! Admit it!”

She growled at him, refusing he use her given name in such a moment.

“The Admiral went all in.”, Mendoza continued. “There's no way you're going to succeed. You'll end up captured, or worse. Do you _know_ what fate they save for pirates!?”

“We'll avoid it. Come on, have more faith in me than that!”

She tried to stand, but stumbled back on her knees. Carlos helped her back on her feet, and Esteban held her hand with worry.

“I'm alright, gavitos… I'm alright.”

“Mama, you're hurt...”

She tried to brush it off, but the pain was hard to ignore. Another cannonball stuck the ship, and this time she fell on the deck like a ragdoll.

“I...I'll be fine. I had worse.”

Carlos was crying. He didn't even notice it, his vision getting blurry as his mother struggled to stand. He looked over his shoulder, and saw that Mendoza was doing nothing to help her stand.

"...Carlos. Gavito, look at me.”

He did so. His mother's face was struck with something he did not recognize, and that he dreaded to identify. Her voice was soft, so much he almost didn't hear it.

“I want you to take Esteban and follow your father.”, she said. “I want you to follow him, and get away from here.”

“What!? But– but why? They're our enemies!!”

Someone shouted, and the sound of something crashing rang through the air. Carlos ducked down in fear, and Gaviota held them closer.

“I can't take any chances. You two escape, quickly. We'll meet when the battle's settled.”

“But… but…!”

He was right about to cry. So she smiled despite the pain, and hugged him close.

“Worry not, gavioto. I'm strong. I won't be defeated. But I need to keep you safe.”

She then held Esteban in her arms.

“You too, gavitito. Listen to your brother and be good, alright? This won't take long.”

"...yes, mama.”

She smiled, and kissed them both on the forehead. Then she handed Esteban to his brother, and stood up.

“Go, now. Fly like little birds you are. I'll meet you at the end, alright?”

Carlos weakly nodded, and Gaviota drew her sword. She ran back into the fight, and Mendoza's hand held the boy's shoulder.

“Come. The ship's about to sink.”

Carlos kept his eyes on the fight as they ran away. He couldn't look away, no matter how much he tried. There was a small boat waiting for them, aboard which they rowed away from the heat of the battle. Even then, he kept staring at the ships destroying one another, at the canons flaring, at the sailors' wings flying and landing. He kept staring in hopes something would come up and announce his crew's victory, his mother's triumph, his reason to stay with the wind sailors.

But soon the echoes of fighting died down, and the wings stopped flying. The boat kept rowing away, and Carlos barely noticed his mother's ship slowly disappearing in the horizon.


	2. Marooned on Stranger Shores

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What became of the Mendoza brothers after their life as wind sailors.

_June 1504_

“Where are we going?”

The man didn't answer. Carlos frowned, and tried again.

“Hey. I said, where are we going?”

Still nothing. The kid grumbled, and grabbed his sleeve.

“You'll answer me!?”

This time, Mendoza snapped, and swatted Carlos's hand away.

“Stop being rude!”, he growled. “And don't talk back to me.”

Immediately, Carlos's mind filled with protest. What was this guy talking about!? He wasn't talking back. He was just asking a question, one that needed to be asked. _He_ was the rude one for not answering him!

They were walking through unknown streets in an unknown town, where people spoke an unknown language. Esteban was holding his brother's hand, toddling uncertainly behind him, and obviously needing to ask questions that the Captain's angry glares stopped him from speaking. The little kid was terrified, holding onto his elder like a lifeline, and he was this close from bursting into tears, if it weren't for Mendoza's presence.

Eventually, they stopped in front of a small house. It was worn-down in places, the stones sporting thin cracks and the wooden beams overgrown with moss. It didn't look anything warm or hospitable, and for a moment Carlos thought the captain had gotten the wrong one. In his head he begged, _pleaded_ that it was the wrong one; yet the Captain came forward and knocked on the door.

From inside came a rustle, an angry voice and heavy footsteps. Carlos held Esteban close, fearing whatever danger was coming from the other side of this door; and when it opened, his breath stopped for a moment.

The old woman had an evil look in her eye. She looked just as worn-down and crumbly as her house, her spine crooked and her gray hair held under a handkerchief. She seemed displeased with Mendoza's presence, speaking to him in that language; but when she happened to saw the kids, her anger rose even more. It was a great deal of discussing before the brothers were eventually allowed inside.

It smelled weird. Everything looked old and dusty. Carlos and Esteban were instructed to sit at a table; they were served some food while the adults talked. It was bland, and very different from what they've been accustomed to, living on their mother's ship. Merely thinking of it made Carlos almost want to cry, but he held it back.

The old crone looked rather angry, in a passive manner. Whatever language they were speaking was similar enough for Carlos to understand a few words. But it wasn't until Mendoza came back that the boys got the first explanation of their situation.

“I've talked to my sister.”, he said. “She's accepted to take you boys in.”

His sister? They didn't even know her! Carlos frowned.

“What about you? Where will you go?”

“It is none of your business.”, the Captain responded, irritated. “I have to report to the Admiral. I have a duty to uphold.”

“You can't go! You're...you're our father!”

The word almost disgusted him. In the three years that Carlos had known this man, he's never acted like a father. Not to him at least; he's been way more invested in La Gaviota's second child. After Esteban was born, things became a little too complicated for Carlos to understand, but the Captain had expressed a lot of disappointment over something unknown. Gaviota didn't care, and loved him just as she's done before. And now that she was gone, her little seagulls could as well have been orphaned; for as far as Carlos was concerned, they never had a father.

“I am.”, Mendoza conceded. “Which means that Tia Gerda is your aunt, and family. You owe her respect and obedience, like with any relative.”

Carlos was about to reply that he owed no one obedience, but Gerda's evil glare shut him down.

Mendoza didn't stay long. Once he was done abandoning the children, he left them here without another word. This was the last time the brothers saw him.

~~~~~

_November 1507_

“Where have you been, again?”

The aunt's voice came to his ears like a shrill, making him stand on edge.

“I was playing outside.”, the eleven-year old replied. “It's not forbidden, is it?”

“Don't you talk back to me, ruffian! Get cleaned up this instant, you're filthy as a mule!”

And she pushed him back inside. Carlos didn't try to fight it, knowing it'd be useless. Should he put up a resistance, she'd bring out a wooden stick or something worse, and make it not worth at all.

Esteban was waiting for him. He's spent the day cooped up inside again, made to read whatever book Tia wanted to influence him with. When he saw his brother, he came to him right away to embrace him, and Carlos returned the gesture.

“At least you had fun.”, he chuckled. “How was your day, _hermanito?_ ”

“Lonely.”

Carlos couldn't help but frown a bit. Had they been on their mother's ships, they'd have a lot of playmates to mess with and talk to. Other children of pirates, companions to bond with. But instead, they were each other's only company in this cruel world.

“It's alright. I'm here now.”

He picked Esteban up, and carried him over his shoulder like a sack of flour, which made him laugh and squirm. But Carlos held a firm grip, eventually dropping him on the bed they shared; Esteban laughed and tried to fight it, kicking away until he was free.

“You won't escape me forever!”, Carlos threatened on a playful tone. “One day, I shall have you!”

“No you won't!!”

And he blew a raspberry at him. The kids laughed it off, before Esteban hurried to a small chest where he kept their rare toys. He dug out a pirate outfit they built out of old pieces of clothing. A black hat made of dyed hand towels, and a blue cape cut from a patchy blanket.

“We can play captains? Please please please!!”

There was no way Carlos could deny him. He took the cape, and Esteban took the hat, as usual. Fastening it around his neck, he could already feel much warmer, after his escapade in the cold winter. He grabbed a sword whittled from a tree branch, and everything set itself into place; the bed became their ship, the floor a treacherous sea, the candles made the eyes of a sea dragon set on attacking them. Carlos and Esteban were the fierce captains that would sail the seas and slay the dangers, gaining fame and glory. For a time, they'd escape this life of poverty and mistreatment.

Whenever he wore that patched-up cape, Carlos was no longer a poor orphan. He was a hero, a warrior, a pirate. A wind sailor, wearing the same wings as his elders, made to protect the weak and the lost.

He was Captain Mendoza, and this feeling was the best in the world.

~~~~~

_August 1508_

“Come on, faster!”, Carlos cheered. “We're going to miss it!”

“Wait for me!”

The younger boy's pleas barely caught up to the elder as he was running through the streets, easily making his way through crowds and tight alleys and causing outraged uproar from adults. He knew he shouldn't leave Esteban behind, but today was a big day! He'd never miss it for anything in the world!

“Carlos, wait for me!!”

He didn't feel like waiting, but nonetheless stopped his eager run, letting the seven year-old catch up with panting breath.

“You're going too fast for me!”, he complained. “Tia said you had to hold my hand!”

“What tells you you're not the one who's too slow?”, the twelve year-old snickered.

Esteban puffed his little face in anger, and shoved him with his elbow, to what Carlos only sneered more.

“Oh, come on! We're almost there. You can make it.”

“We shouldn't go that far. Tia said the port's full of nasty people.”

“Well, Tia's not here, so if you don't follow me you can go home on your own.”

But he didn't want to make his brother cry, so he offered his hand this time. Esteban eagerly held onto it, and the two of them kept running towards the port, where everyone was gathered to celebrate the ship's departure.

They easily made their way up some barrels, from where they could have a better view of the people, the sea, and the impressive vessels that stood out like mastodons of wood and rope. There was music, there was cheering, and the whole town had gathered out to watch these brave sailors leave for their years-long voyage. Carlos cheered along, his voice but a background note in the unceasing calls of all these bystanders, but he still felt like it made a difference.

Next to him, Esteban was watching with apprehension, but the general mood seemed to get to him little by little. And when the white sails got down, he added his own voice as well to the encouragements, even though it was quite shy of a call. But Carlos could hear it, and it did make a difference to him.

Finally, the ships left port, and with them the hopes and dreams of Barcelona that they'd carry to lands yet unknown. Carlos watched them leave, his own heart overcome with thoughts of distant countries, hidden treasures and exciting adventures; it was hard to hide just what he felt about the prospective of such promises.

“When I grow up, I'll be a sailor.”, he claimed proudly. “I'll explore the world, and become rich!”

Esteban chuckled, sitting up on the barrels.

“You can't be a sailor. You've never set foot on a boat!”

“Well, I kinda forgot. But I can learn! Just a couple years, and I'll be old enough to join a crew. I'll learn the ropes, I'll become the best there is!”

He stood up like a tower, chest proudly forward.

“I'll be the head of my own armada! Captain Juan Carlos Mendoza, leading a fleet of ten thousand men!”

“No fleet's that big!!”

“Mine will be!!”

He laughed, and picked up an excited Esteban in his arms.

“And you'll be my second in command! Commander Esteban Ricardo Mendoza, a name feared by all enemies! Slayer of pirates and Moors, the terror of the Mediterranean!”

“Stop being silly!”, Esteban laughed, squirming to be put down. “If you're captain, then I'll be captain too!”

“Well, I will need someone to help me man my second ship. Alright then, Junior Captain.”

He ruffled his brother's hair, making the curls all messy again. Esteban kept chortling, before his eyes fell on the sea again with contemplation.

"...we'll explore the world.”, he said, almost dreamily.

“We will. I promise.”

“You do?”

Carlos nodded, and held out a hand.

“I promise, hermanito. One day, we'll get out of here.”

Esteban smiled, and eagerly shook on it.

It was a promise, then.

~~~~~

_December 1511_

One day, Carlos thought. One day, he'd show Esteban what the world out there was like. One day, they'd see the legendary Cities of Gold with their own eyes. One day, he'd get out of here.

It's always been their plan. As soon as he's heard of the legend of the Cities of Gold, he knew he'd be the one to find them. He'd bring them to the world, reveal their treasures and be the heir of the legend. He didn't know whether he descended from Atlantis, but wind sailors came from all over the world, so who was to say he didn't inherit something special from his mother's side? He may not have the necklace the legend spoke of, but it was but a matter of time.

Two heirs, seven cities. A journey throughout the world. How many times have Esteban and he played explorers, sought imaginary treasures and lands, pretended to find the Cities of Gold in their backyard? How many times have they been reprimanded by Tia Gerda, belittled for playing such stupid games, punished for turning precious jewelry or dishes into fantasy treasures? He couldn't recall how many meals he was starved from or hours of study forced to, from all this playing; but he knew it was worth it. This game, this pretend play was what drove him to keep going. One day, he'd get out of here, he'd see the _real_ Cities with his own eyes, and Esteban would be there too. And it would be greater than anything he's ever imagined.

By the age of fifteen, it became obvious this life wouldn't be enough anymore. Every day was a struggle, a pain, a torture. Tia Gerda wouldn't stop at any opportunity to make their lives miserable, to show them they were nothing but undesired orphans, born out of wedlock and abandoned as soon as their father saw it fit. They would never amount to anything; and should they stay here, it would prove true. But Carlos wouldn't let it happen.

One day, he had enough. He told Esteban his plan, and while the latter agreed with his feelings, he wasn't too sure. But he followed him anyway. And that's how one night, the Mendoza brothers ran out of their aunt's house, to the port.

It was silent, and deserted. But he's planned everything. He's saved up all that he could, and prepared his stuff months in advance. With all of his efforts, he managed to afford a small boat, which was waiting for them at the port. A fitting vessel to make their escape.

“Is that a good idea?”, Esteban asked as they were readying their ride. “You don't know how to sail...”

“I learned. I watched, don't worry. I can handle this.”

Well, it wasn't entirely true. But he didn't want Esteban to worry. All would be fine.

“We'll row along the shore to another town. There, we'll get established. I'll become a mate, you can work tables in a tavern. When we get enough money, we'll get a much bigger boat, a small crew, and we'll find the Cities of Gold.”

“That's insane! You don't even know where they are!”

Carlos wanted to respond, but simply huffed in annoyance.

“We'll find it, we're bound to! And it's better than staying here, anyway. Just trust me, alright?”

He could tell Esteban had other worries in mind. But he simply nodded, and kept going in silence.

Finally, the boat was ready. Carlos and Esteban grabbed the oars, and started rowing away from the port. The sea was calm, the night covered everything with darkness. All was going well.

“I can't believe we're doing this.”, Esteban said. “We're running away from home!”

“It was never our home.”

It was true. Neither of them has either truly felt at home in that wretched place. It was time for them to have a new start, and it was happening right now.

They rowed away from town, onto the open sea. Everything was going great, and it was a smooth sail. But as clouds hid the moon, the wind started to rise, and so did the waves.

“This is scary...”

“Don't worry. I know what to do. Just keep going.”

He paddled away at the sea, but the motions of the current were becoming hard to break. They were bringing them back to shore, something Carlos tried to fight back.

“Carlos, I'm scared!”

“Don't be! We're sailors, remember? We're not afraid of a little sway!”

Esteban got shut up once again, yet it was obvious he did _not_ like what was happening. They tried rowing with more strength, but this time the waves splashed them in the face, leaving them shivering.

“It was a bad idea! Let's go!”

“We can do it! Believe me, we can do it!”

Could they, really? He was starting to doubt it. He looked around, but couldn't see the shore anymore. The waves were twisting the boat around, so much that his sense of direction was confused. How could this be? Was he not a sailor after all? He started to panic, worried they'd never find a way back to land again, that they'd be lost on the seas forever.

“I don't like this! Let's go home, now!”

“Don't worry! We can do it, you know! We can–”

“No, we can't! We're _not_ sailors!”

Carlos looked at his brother like he'd just stabbed him in the ribs.

“Of course we are!”, he retorted. “We've always been!”

“Maybe you are, but I'm not! And I'm scared! Carlos, I want to go home!”

It was becoming hard to hear his voice over the tumult of the waters. Esteban tried to stand, to move, but another sway sent him back into the boat, losing his footing. Carlos let go of an oar to hold his hand, but the water struck him and chilled him to the bone. It got in his face, blinding him for a second; and when he opened his eyes again, Esteban had disappeared.

His heart skipped a beat.

“Carlos!!”

He turned around. Esteban had fallen off the boat, and his hands could barely be seen rising from the surface. Carlos couldn't help a scream, as he looked at him panicked, not knowing what to do.

“Esteban! Hold on!!”

He looked around the boat, and picked up a coil of rope fastened to the front. Tying it around his waist, he gathered his forces and jumped in, meeting the cold water with shock and fear. He managed to swim to the surface, looking around in a panic.

“Esteban!”, he called out. “Where are you!?”

A shout replied to him, coming from behind the waves. He swam there, moving his arms with all his might to fight against the current. Behind the rising waves, he could see a pale hand reaching to him.

“Hold on! I'm coming!!”

He moved in large strokes, as he'd been taught in his young age. All children of the wind sailors knew how to swim, as soon as they were old enough to run. But it dawned on him that Esteban had been taken from their home ship before he was taught this essential skill. He _wasn't_ a wind sailor, after all; the thought hit Carlos like a brick.

He swam faster. He tried to combat the waters, to catch a glimpse of a hand, a head, anything. He called and called, as rain started to fall and trouble his vision, as the cold sea froze his body and made it hard to move. He struggled in the water, struggled like never before, his breathing difficult and his motions slow, his voice drowning and his eyes scouring around in fear, in _panic_ as everything became a confused blur of darkness and water. He tried, he tried and tried again, but slowly the realization came that no amount of tries would succeed.

The boat eventually got pushed back to shore, with Carlos still secured to it. Yet his eyes never let the horizon, the troubled ocean, hoping to see something, _anything_ that could reassure his fear. But nothing of the sort came, even after diving and re-diving over and over again into the harsh, unforgiving waters that pushed him back every time.

He was cold, frozen cold on a lonely shore. When the rain eventually calmed, still nothing could be seen anywhere. He scouted with the boat, called out until his voice wanted to give up, but nothing came of it.

Nothing but tears, and the silent realization that he was alone.


	3. A New Pair of Wings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The beginnings of a friendship nothing can undo.

_April 1513_

Time sure flies fast. Yet Carlos could feel the weight of each day pushing down on him like a burden.

Sitting by the docks, he was staring at his reflection in the water, watching his own face be twisted by the constant motion of waves against wood and stone. The slow pace of the rowboats and the ships being loaded, unloaded, repaired, cleaned, was but a background noise to his monotonous thoughts, a distraction to his gaze that couldn't get out of the dirty port water, out of his mishandled reflection.

The boy has been sitting here for an hour now, water lapping at his feet, without he moved or said anything besides a deep sigh. He could have been playing, laughing, trying to have fun; but it was impossible now. What was the point in playing without a partner, talking without anyone to listen, entertaining a long-gone audience? Had he known how hard it would have been to endure this loneliness, he'd have cherished the past times much more.

How he regretted it now!

The noise of a fishing boat coming back to port drove him out of his reverie. He raised his head, and saw by the slowly descending sun that is was already late. Has he spent that much time here doing nothing but contemplating the sea of his own thoughts?

He sighed, and stood up slowly. His legs were aching from doing nothing, and for a moment he almost stumbled. Where he would have been playing, running, messing around, he was doing nothing of his days. And it hurt maybe more than the rest of all the things he was hurting from, because this single event has been impacting his life in more ways than he'd have thought.

He didn't want to go home. It was barely a home anymore, merely a place to sleep. He was already spending most of his days outside, hanging by the ships or at the tavern, trying his best to not think too much about the past. Tia Gerda had nothing of a relative anymore, time's turned her into a greedy monster that'd have eaten its wards sooner or later. Carlos didn't want to face her, not now, not ever. If he could avoid Barcelona for the rest of his days, it would be just great.

But he had nowhere to go. No plans on his mind, no paths on his map.

Sure, he's tried. But it wasn't the same anymore. Loneliness did horrible things to people, and confusion was one of them. Why bother running away? All he's ever loved was here. This place, albeit hated and despised, was where everything rested. Somewhere in this part of the sea, in the depths of this very port, laid an invisible grave. It had no stone nor soil, yet Carlos knew it was there. In his heart, it was there. And if he left town, it would disappear, and no one would know about it. Ships and people would sail over it day in and day out, without ever paying respect to the fallen one.

The perspective tore at his heart. Abandoning this place would be abandoning _his_ memory, and he would never allow for it.

But even if he wanted to leave, he wouldn't be able to. He was only seventeen, with little experience. He had no means of leaving Barcelona, no money, no other family. He had no way to get in touch with the wind sailors, his mother's kin. His father has abandoned him. Tia Gerda would never allow Carlos to leave her controlling grasp. He was alone, himself against the world.

But the universe was kind. Whatever force drew him away from his mother, from his brother, had him on its good side. That evening, as he was walking home with the slow pace of someone who didn't want to go there, he heard voices talking.

He was used to the chatter and cries of sailors as they came home from a long day at sea, for it taught him most of his Catalan. However, this time was different: this time, it was children. Children's voices, coming from behind a pile of crates; Carlos couldn't help but have his interest piqued. He didn't know why he turned around on his path, but he did.

They were two. Two young kids, barely entering adolescence, pitted against a group of four or five older teens. A tall, scruffy thing with beaten knuckles; and a short, chubby kid clutching onto a red piece of cloth. Carlos couldn't hear what was going on from here, but he's seen enough similar situations to see that they were being harassed for money.

Such was the reality of this world. People were cruel, the strong preyed on the weak. It was a world of wolves, and those who weren't wolves had no place in the chain of things. Carlos turned away, decided to ignore it, simply because it was none of his business. Why would it matter whether or not he intervened? Tomorrow they'd be harassed again, and his efforts would have been in vain.

“Hey!”

But it seemed that it would not be the case. He froze in his tracks, not moving for a moment; and eventually, turned his head to face the group.

One of the bullies had called out to him. Ugh, great. Carlos turned away again, ignoring it, because it was none of his business. He had other things to deal with right now. Big mistake, for footsteps hurried after him, and a hand grasped onto his shirt.

“Where do you think you're going, Mendoza?”, the kid smirked. “It's about time you gave us what you owe, too.”

Carlos huffed, trying to get away. He didn't owe them anything! He managed to free his shirt, but his arm was suddenly grabbed and pinned.

“You're not going anywhere, _pelacanyes_!”

Yes he was! He tried to fight, but another kid came up, and started searching Carlos's pockets. He screeched and tried to free himself, to run, to find a pace to hide. They were all around him now, jeering at him, trying to grab whatever he held in his meager pockets, to make a fool out of him.

“Aw, he's got nothing.”, they complained. “What are we going to do with nothing? That's not good, Mendoza! That's not how you pay respects to your elders!”

“He needs to be teached a lesson. Let's dunk him into the port!”

No! Not there! Anything but there!!

Carlos didn't control himself, by this time. His arm freed itself from the hands grabbing it, and his fist clenched. Without he knew it, a moment later he was punching the bully leader in the face.

He stumbled, falling on his back. There was silence for a moment, and then everyone got him.

It hurt. It hurt really badly. Carlos got punched, kicked, tossed about like a piece of garbage. The force of the blows wasn't much, but it was enough to make him coil in pain, no bone of his' left untouched. By the time they were done, he was curled on the ground, whimpering and crying. Maybe something in his appearance was enough to make the bullies disgusted in him, more interested in going elsewhere. Leaving him bruised and beaten to recollect his broken bones. He tried to stand on his knees, to wipe the blood from his nose with the back of his hand, to little avail.

Other hands came, and he curled up in a long-learned reflex; but to his great surprise, these were kind.

He looked up, and saw the two kids were there. They were looking at him with concern, sad eyes showing a worry Carlos didn't even recognize. They were helping him get up, even though he was older than them, and for a moment he didn't know why. Who were these kids? Why were they helping him? He didn't know at all.

“Are you hurt?”, asked the tall one. “They had you pretty bad...you're bleeding, too!”

“It w...was...s...scary to watch!”, stuttered the chubby one.

“I'm fine.”, Carlos lied. “I've had worse.”

This wasn't entirely true, but not entirely wrong either. He tried to get away, but the monkey-faced kid had a good grasp on his hand.

“Where are you going? You need help! Where's your home?”

“May...maybe he's sho...showing us the way. Don't...don't hold so ta...so tight.”

He wasn't. Never would he go back to Gerda's in such a state. She'd only beat him to a worse pulp.

"...I don't have a home.”, he eventually said.

The kids gasped.

“That can't be!”

“Everyone…everyone has….has a home.”

“I don't.”

He thought his tone alone would be enough to deter these kids, but they made nothing of it. And without he knew it, he was being dragged along, following these boys into the streets.

They were such chatterers. The tall one's name was Pedro: he came from a drapers' family that had a good enough reputation around these parts. Aged fourteen, yet still not quite a man, he had a knack for getting himself into trouble, but already the sense of banter needed to get out of it. He was talking so much it made Carlos's head spin a little; unless that was the foot he'd taken to the nose. He wasn't sure yet.

His twelve-year old friend was named Sancho. His mother ran a little pub not too far from there, where the boys were headed. He was very worried about Carlos's poor state, especially beyond apparent wounds: he's offered him some cakes he had in his pockets, with such insistence that Carlos had trouble refusing. His speech impediment often got him mocked by older kids, to the point he'd rather stay quiet; but whatever words he managed to draw out were full of care and good will. He sounded a little naive, Carlos thought, but his naivety was of the endearing kind. It felt good to listen to, in a world of brutes.

Once at the inn, Sancho's mother was quick to worry all the same. Before he could tell her it was alright, the fat little woman had gotten some hot water to clean his wounds, and served him a meal warmer than anything he's ever had in Gerda's kitchen. All while he was eating and being patched up, Pedro was expressing his awe at how Carlos punched the bully's face, twisting the story into some amazing feat of heroism about how he swooped in to the friends' defense and saved them from danger. Sancho was most grateful for it, agreeing with this version despite Carlos's better judgment.

“It was absolutely amazing! Tell her, Mendoza, tell her how you threw him into the docks!”

"...I think you told most of it already.”

He didn't even have the strength to correct him on his name. It didn't really matter anyway, he was happy to have escaped it in one piece. But mostly, he was happy he didn't have to deal with this alone.

It felt so strange to have someone admire him again. It felt...good. On the moment, Mendoza felt grateful he didn't simply walk away back then, and let himself be convinced that he did something to help, instead of offering the bullies another target. He remembered how he'd show his brother how to stay out of trouble, to avoid older kids, to the point it made them into something of marginals. Sure, they've avoided trouble, but they've also been avoiding potential new friendships.

Perhaps now was a chance to make things better.

~~~~~

_October 1517_

“Get back here!”

But Mendoza was faster. He evaded Gerda's hand, and made his way downstairs running. He almost fell down the steps, but caught himself at the last minute.

“You filthy child- come back here this instant!”

“Shut up! Just shut up, old crone!!”

Enough was enough. He exited the house, where the cold wind of the night met him. As if struck with sudden doubt, he froze on the porch, facing the streets with a feeling he didn't identify. Was he really about to do this? Was there no other way?

As if to answer him, Gerda descended the stairs, and grabbed his arm. Her nails hurt like a hawk's talons, digging into his flesh.

“Where do you think you are going!? If you take one more step out of this house, don't you think I'll ever allow you back in!”

Mendoza felt his blood boil. Without thinking, he pushed the old lady back, and stepped further outside.

“Like _hell_ I'll ever want to come back here!”

And he ran into the street.

Enough was enough. He was tired of the way he was being treated in this place, for even nice little boys had their limits; and since Mendoza never claimed to be one, his' ought to be even shorter. Years of abuse, mistreatment and denial couldn't simply be swept under the rug, no matter how many times Gerda would insist it was normal.

It was never normal to make others feel this bad.

He ran. He ran without a direction, without a purpose, for he felt like he didn't need one. It was all superficial, nothing real compared to his one and only need: to get out of here. Anywhere would be better than here. _Anywhere_ …

So he ran, ran until his legs gave up. He hid in a dark street, tried to calm his lungs. Any shadow was her, trying to get at him and drag him back to this hellhouse. Any noise was her creaking footstep, her shrill voice, her dismissive remarks of his pain. Every movement was a hand about to slap, a stick about to whip, a foot about to stomp. Everything was out to get him.

He didn't know how much time he spent in this back alley, trying to recompose himself. He didn't know whether or not she was still chasing him, trying to punish him for whatever mistake he made. He didn't know whether it was safe to look up from his hiding place at last. He wished he knew, but he couldn't get himself to know. It was all too complicated for him. But eventually, the dark and silent street imposed itself to him, and he slowly looked up from his knees.

By some manner of coincidence, he ended up right next to the Ribalta inn. Or perhaps he let his feet guide him here, for he spent so much time there that it felt like second nature.

He got up, legs still shaking from fright and adrenaline. He made his way in, even though it was dark and late. And as soon as Sancho saw him come in, he rushed to his side, helped him to a seat.

“Wha...what happ...ppened? Did...did...did someone hurt you?”

Mendoza could barely muster the force to speak, so he simply nodded. He's been hurt one time too many, and this time his solid composure broke. He started crying, hiding his face in his arms, crying with the weight of everything that's happened.

His mother's death. His father's rejection. His brother's disappearance. His aunt's hatred and abuse. Everything was weighing down on him like it was trying to drown him, to drag him down fiery pits and endless abysses, like nothing could help lift him up ever again. Sancho sat by him, rubbing his back and stuttering some words of comfort, as Mendoza cried like he's never allowed himself to.

“It's...it's going to be fine. It's always...always fine!”

“Of course it is!”, chimed in Pedro, who seemed to have appeared out of nowhere. “You're tougher than that, Mendoza! You know you can do it!”

Mendoza shot him a glare full of tears, one that made Pedro shudder.

"...but then again, everyone has their down moments.”, he quickly corrected. “You know what? That's also fine. Cry all you need, we'll be there.”

“We'll...we'll beeee there.”

Their hands pat his back again, and Mendoza wiped his eye.

"...thank you, guys. It's great you're here.”

And without really knowing why, he brought them into a solid embrace. He's lost the habit, he's lost all reasons to regain it; but on the moment he did it, it felt natural.

“I don't think I can do it alone...”

“You won't have to! We're here, remember? We've always been.”

“Yeah! We're...were here for you, Mendodo, Mendoza!”

He couldn't help a smile, seeing all of their cheer and good mood. It was awfully contagious, and he could already feel himself getting a little better.

“It's so great.”, he said quietly.

He thought about things some more. He wouldn't be coming home anytime soon, but he had nowhere else to go. He had nothing but the clothes on his back, and he could already feel starvation and tiredness nag at him like harbingers of his homeless fate. He shuddered at the thought, cursing himself for not planning it ahead.

“You're shivering, friend. Here.”

And Pedro draped a piece of cloth over his shoulders. A blue cloth, not exactly unlike one he's worn a long time ago.

He didn't bring it with him, for it was still buried in a toy chest where he left it all those years ago. Gently, his fingers trailed over this blanket, feeling its softness and warmth. A gift meant to make him feel better, after all he's been through.

Slowly, he fastened it around his neck. It fit almost just right; while it couldn't replace his old cape, it felt good to have something to keep his back warm. Some wings of his own, like the gliders of his native fleet.

“What are you going to do now?”, Pedro gently asked after a moment of silence. “Where will you go?”

Where indeed? He thought about it. He thought about his brother, about what they've promised each other. It's been their deal, and he needed to uphold his promise. Even though he was on his own now, he still needed to see the Cities of Gold, to get out of here, to go where his hermanito wouldn't get to go. And then, he would go where the ocean guides him, and take up the sailor life with a new crew of his own.

He looked up. Through the window, dawn was slowly rising. It made him smile, without he knew why.

“...I'll find the Cities of Gold.”, he answered. “And I want you guys to be there too.”

And that was all he needed to say.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The story carries on over in [Brothers on an Endless Sea](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19154341). Here you'll find out why Mendoza's brother has the same name as the Child of the Sun.


End file.
